Sherlock Fanfiction - Getting Over Him
by lauren.parker.7524
Summary: New chapters will come out every so often until it is finished, hope you enjoy it :D
1. The Day It Began

**Sherlock Fanfiction – Getting Over Him**

~_The day~_

He ends the call and drops the phone.

"Sherlock!"

We lock eyes one last time. The he falls. Everything seems to slow down; his coat billows in the wind that's also ruffling his hair, such beauty can't end now.

"SHERLOCK!"

I run forward, I have got to catch him but already I know I am too late. I close my eyes and come to a standstill, I just can't watch. I hear a sickening thud and a crack and immediately my eyes re-open. I regret that decision. Even from all the way over here I can see the scarlet blood pouring from his head, his immobile body. I go run forward again but my legs buckled, right in the middle of the road. I kneel there, my world is spinning. I hear the regular noise of busy London but it's all white noise. I see a car rushing towards me but I don't care.

"Let it kill me" I mumble.

I feel someone push me out of the road, I see a streak of blonde hair but then it disappears as the side of my face hits the pavement. I clamber to stand up and stutter a thank you, only getting a glimpse of my rescuer's face. I need to get to Sherlock and fast. I run over, stumbling once or twice, and as I make it to his side I kneel beside him. He's only just conscious. His face looks up to the sky, the pale beauty that was once his is masked by the dull pale glow and the blood dripping down his face,

"Oh Sherlock..." I whisper, tears sliding silently down my face.

He gives a small pitiful smile and I watch as the last breath leaves his lungs and his eyes close. I can't help myself. I cry on his chest, loud sobs escape my mouth. I grip his shirt, clinging myself close to him. I hear the wail of sirens but they're nowhere near as loud as the wails in my head. I feel the paramedics grip my shoulders in an attempt to pull me away but I was _not _leaving this man. More came and they eventually pulled my arms back and dragged me away thrashing. I was aware I was shouting but I didn't know what, nothing made sense anymore. They put me in the back of an ambulance and shut the doors, probably thought I was crazy. I saw them lift Sherlock's body onto a gurney through the little windows in the ambulance; I saw his face and pounded on the doors. He was so close yet so far away from me. They opened the doors to the other ambulance and rolled Sherlock into it, I shouted again and again, weeping for my friend, my best friend.


	2. How To Cope

**Sherlock Fanfiction – Getting Over Him**

~_Three days later~_

"John?" Mrs. Hudson came in with a cup of tea and a worried look.

"John you should really go out, everyone's very worried for you."

I continued to stare out of the window.

"John you haven't eaten in three days, you have to eat something. John respond!"

I couldn't eat. Everything tasted like the random body parts Sherlock would leave in the fridge. Sherlock. 3 days since he...he...I can't finish.

"And Mycroft's car keeps coming by, he really wants to talk to you about Sher-"

"BLOODY HELL MRS. HUDSON WILL YOU SHUT UP? TELL EVERYONE TO GO AWAY!" I shout.

It was the final straw, couldn't they see? I didn't want anyone but Sherlock. I didn't want anything without Sherlock. I didn't want to live without Sherlock. There's silence. Mrs. Hudson wasn't mad, upset or even hurt. She was disappointed, pitiful. She comes up to me and holds my hands in hers.

"I'm sorry, I just..."my eyes well up with tears. "I just miss him so much."

"Sweetie we all do." She says squeezing my hands comfortingly. "I'm going to his gravestone tomorrow; he always said he didn't want a funeral, too many people pretending to care. Would you like to come?"

I shake my head. I don't think I'd be able to. She leaves understanding my worry without a word. I continue to stare outside. What is life without Sherlock? I can't imagine it. My life before him was...was unliveable. I flash back to before Sherlock. To mornings that I'd wake up to a bloody cane and no money. My family life was spinning out of control. I had nobody. But then I met him. I walked in and the first thing he said to me was "Afghanistan or Iraq?". It was crazy how he could work something like that out within the first few seconds of meeting me. It was unreal. I reach for the newspaper; need to get him off my mind. The Headline "Suicide of Fake Genius", I throw the paper angrily across the room. He wasn't fake! He was a pure genius! Even though he "admitted" it to me on our last phone call I know he was lying, he was real, every part of him. I get up to go get changed and walk past the smiley face Sherlock spray painted on the wall, the one with bullet holes through it. I hurry past, too many memories. I walk past his room, the one I put him in when Irene broke his heart. I can still hear the distraught and lonely violin music that he played in his desperation. Run. Quickly, I have to get away. I get changed and go out; 221B still has traces of him everywhere. I walk for a bit. I don't know where my feet are taking me but I trust them more than I trust my brain right now. I stand in front of the police force's building and walk in. Everyone gives me a shocked face, didn't expect me to come in. I walk right onto LaStrade's floor and knock. He opens the door and is shocked to see me here. He doesn't say anything; he just gives me a hug. I hug him back due to the fact I need it and we sit down.

"John. How are you, nobody has seen you with the exception of Mrs. Hudson. Are you okay?"

I look into his eyes and he gives an understanding nod.

"John. I have an offer for you. As you know Sher-, Sorry, our ex consulting detective has left. He was the best of the best. And although you are a doctor in this establishment we know you have helped him on many occasions. We...we want you to replace him."

Is he mad? I can't replace him! It's his job; he's the one that works our cases out! Replacing him would be unthinkable!

"Look I know what you're thinking. But it really is needed and to be honest we don't want to lose the last piece of Sherlock we have left. You. So have a think? And please, just eat, speak, sleep. We are all worried for you."

I don't know what to say. So I nod to tell him that I'll think about his offer, thank him for seeing me and leave.


	3. Hitting Out

**Sherlock Fanficition – Getting Over Him**

_~11 days later~_

Two weeks. Now two weeks since his last choice was made. Two weeks of sleepless nights, invalid mornings and tears. I've never lost someone I cared about so much. To be honest I've only cried over a lost soldier once, it happened at the same time I had my leg injury that forced me to go home.

I was operating on a man with a bullet 2cm away from his heart, barely breathing when suddenly the enemy (a troop of 4) stormed into our tent. Immediately our hands went up, we were defenceless. I looked to the opposite side of the operating table to see my friend, a soldier, Dean. Dean had many experiences with combat whilst he knew I had a bit too but nowhere near as much. He knows I'm good however at hand-to-hand close combat. He reaches for his knife hidden in his pocket whilst the guards are fixated on me and throws it at the one closest to mine's head, and sweeps the one closest to him off of his feet with his right leg; he fell unconscious as soon as he hit the ground the poor man. So 2 down, 2 to go. The one that now is closest to me aims his gun and fires bullets toward me, I duck and roll towards his feet where I pull them out from underneath him, also going unconscious. Unfortunately whilst I was rolling a single bullet pierced through my leg, I felt a searing pain run through it and knew this was a major injury. Dean lost thought and followed his instinct in trying to save me even though the damage had already been done.

"Dean no!" I cried.

Too late. The other guard took the chance and used the same knife Dean had used to kill the first person and threw it so it impaled itself into his back. For a split second I stare at the writing engraved on the knife. _"Dean Terry, fighting for survival." _I know that Dean would never want his killer alive, and especially not after he had killed him with his own precious knife. So in angered instinct I throw the knife and it digs itself into his forehead and he drops faster than a weight. That was the first time I had ever killed someone. I told Sherlock I had my bad days.

Sherlock and Dean were so different yet so important to me in different ways. Why must I lose all people I love? People who give me a purpose in life? Does God just want me to die all alone with nobody to care about it? At this moment it seems so. I drag myself out of Sherlock's bed, why did I sleep in here? I don't remember coming into his bed? Well I'm almost glad I did, it still smells of him, it reminds me of when he wanted to get out of bed when Irene Adler drugged him but I had to force him to stay. Sherlock hates not being in control. Sorry, hated. I walk into the kitchen, is it worth eating something? I turn back around to go back to bed and grieve all day when I hear Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh no you don't! John you are eating a proper breakfast today; look a real British fry-up! You've got a big day ahead and you need to eat."

"I'm not doing anything today Mrs. Hudson."

"Yes you are, you're going to go to work, tell everyone you're okay. You need money, you can't grieve forever!"

She steers me into a chair and sets breakfast down on the table. I stare at it.

"John please." she pleads. "Just eat."

I look at her face and see real concern. I look at myself in the mirror opposite and see someone else. This person has purple bags under their eyes, their waist and arms are dangerously thin, from my experience this person needs to eat or they will die. That person just cannot be me. I begin to eat, just to please Mrs. Hudson, I swallow every tasteless bite. When I have finished I get up to wash the plate but Mrs. Hudson takes it from my hands and shakes her head.

"You've done enough. Thank you."

I smile like it was nothing but it took all of my energy actually. I don't go to work that day. I'm just not ready. I spend the day eating; I do so now only because starvation is painful. In the time I spent not eating I lay in my bed thinking. I relived the painful moment of his death. I thought about every day that he will not be there. My wedding, he will not be my best man. My daughter's christening, he will not be the Godfather. My death, he will not be at my funeral. I slam my fists on the mattress, like the mattress would feel my pain. I do it again and again. The mattress becomes too soft for me so I turn to the wall. I punch that instead, my knuckles have started bleeding but I don't give one. This pain is better than the pain of no Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson rushes in but I do not acknowledge her. She grabs my wrists and restrains them to my chest.

"Stop! Stop! Calm down, it's okay. John take a walk. Just calm down."

I nod slowly and grasp what just happened. I start breathing regularly again, I didn't realise I was hyperventilating. I put on my shoes and coat and go for a walk. I walk past cafes with happy families in, fathers teaching their sons to ride bikes, mothers strolling the pushchair holding their babies. I keep my head down and walk past all of it. I feel a change of temperature and my head rises. I've gone inside and by the smell I know it's gym. Normally I would've turned right back around but I see punching bags and the anger from before flares up again. I walk towards one and take off my coat, just leaving it on the floor. I punch the punching bag once very hard. The anger subsides a little but builds up again immediately. I punch it again, harder; same effect. I begin to punch it repeatedly, punch every painful memory into oblivion. Sherlock jumping off the building, _*PUNCH*. _In the swimming pool with Moriarty strapping the bomb to me, *PUNCH*. Every time someone called Sherlock crazy, *PUNCH*. I punch everything away, everything that was killing me. At one point the bag feel off the chain after me punching it too hard. I look around and the gym members stare at me in silence.

"Hey!" one cries. "Aren't you John Watson? Sher-"

I rush out before he can say his name.


	4. Back To Work

**Sherlock Fanfiction – Getting Over Him**

_~The Next Day~_

I never realised how long I was at the gym yesterday. It seemed like I was only there for a couple of minutes, punching for the spur of the moment but when I got home I saw it was midnight, 7 hours after I left. Mrs. Hudson had almost called the police, but I came just in time. I had never felt that kind of rush before. I felt some sort of power over the inanimate object, a small yet significant amount of power. Every time my fist came in contact with the bag it felt like I was punching away another problem, another wall that was blocking me. Time flew by; none of the world seemed relevant whilst punching that bag, none of it at all. However I woke up today with knuckles that were red raw and stinging slightly from yesterday but I didn't care. Mrs. Hudson made me another breakfast which I reluctantly swallow, not because she's a bad cook, but because nothing tasted or felt right anymore. I decided to go to work that day, I felt bad for Mrs. Hudson because although she could manage without mine and Sherlock's rent she still deserves some spending money. I take a deep breath in before entering the Morgue, but I know that it's time. I take a deep breath in and open the doors.

I heard Sherlock's scream as soon as my foot touched the clean, white floor and sank to my knees. I felt the weight of his head in my hands on the day he died and pushed them against my ears. I even smelt his blood that dripped down his beautiful face and stopped breathing through my nose to smell it. I was shouting aloud, shouting to drown out Sherlock's screaming. Where is he? He's dead! How can he be screaming?! I sat there on my knees rocking back and forth, desperate to get his blood-curdling image, voice, figure out of my head when Molly rushes in through the door on the other side of the room followed by Lestrade. They see me and run to my side.

"John. John listen, what's happening?! What's wrong?!" attempts Molly.

"It's okay John, we need to know what happened!" consoles Lestrade.

I can barely hear them, Sherlock's just too loud. He keeps saying my name. Over and over again.

"Why didn't you save me John?" he asks.

I tried! I ran towards you remember?!

"You could've stopped me before I jumped John; I thought you were my friend, obviously not."

I am! I always will be!

"No John, you won't. You are just as bad as everyone else. I don't need you John. You repel me."

"SHERLOCK NO!" I cry.

I push Molly to the side and she slams into the cabinets with a loud thud, her arm made a sickening crunch. The screaming had stopped. The weight of him had gone. The smell of his scarlet blood had disappeared. Everyone was silent. Molly gave me a terrified look and nodded at Lestrade who gently put his hands on my shoulders. I was hyperventilating again, all of it wasn't real. What's messing with my head?! I quickly stood up before Lestrade could get a grip on me and looked into his eyes.

"Someone did this to me, I've...I've...I've been drugged! Like back at Baskerville! Someone's drugged me that's it! That's why I can see him everywhere! That's why I can hear him wherever I go!" I explain.

Lestrade looks at me with a worried look.

"John. It's not a drug; you need to sit down okay? You've become really violent and you have just got to calm down." he says coming closer to me slowly.

I start breathing quicker. Am I insane? No, it's got to be a drug, it's got to be.

"You don't understand! It's got to be a drug!" I plead.

I can see black dots, what are they? My breathing is too fast now, it's just stopped. I walk backwards towards the door but only take 2 steps before I feel myself falling backwards into a dark unconsciousness.


	5. Always By My Side

**Sherlock Fanfiction – Getting Over Him**

_~A couple of hours later ~_

I wake up on white, stainless sheets surrounded by silver metal railings around the bed. There's white noise in my ears and I have a small headache but I attempt to sit up anyway. I wince for my head but carry on as it is always important to assess the area when in a state of confusion. My hand gripped the railing of the bed and the screams started up again. Crazy, relentless screaming. As the smell started pouring back into my nose I pushed the pillow to my face.

"It's not real John. Not real."

The screams got louder, my heartbeat got faster, the smell became stronger. How do I end this?! I close my eyes tight and breathe, got to control my breathing.

"Sherlock" I whisper. "I'm...sorry."

The screams are silenced. The blood is gone. He just stands in the centre of the room.

"Don't cry for me John. We'll meet again soon I promise." He says.

Then he's gone. I look around for him but he's nowhere to be seen. I survey the area as my previous objective was and see that it's a regular room, except only three of the walls are white whilst one is see-through. I walk slowly towards it and see Molly and Lestrade on the other side.

"Mind letting me out guys?"I say with a warm smile, it's good to see them when nothing else makes sense.

They give each other a look and turn towards me again, my smile instantly drops, I can see they're not doing me any favours.

"John do you remember what happened earlier?" Lestrade asks.

The screaming. Sherlock telling me that I could've saved him. Molly's arm.

"Yes. Molly I am so sorry about what happened, I just wanted it to stop." I apologise.

"It's alright John." She says looking at her cast. "But we noticed some things that were also unusual. We heard you say Sherlock repeatedly in between breaths, you kept looking at your hands as if there was blood on them and you just wouldn't stop shouting. You looked insa-. Troubled."

I peered at what else was on the other side of the wall. In black letters I could easily make out the words "Psychiatry Ward".

"Oh come on! Please guys you've got to give me a chance! Please! One more chance, if I...flip out...again then I promise I'll go see a psychiatrist! But please, I can't stay here."

They look pityingly at me. They still want to see their old friend, the old John. But now they see I'll never change.

"I don't think that's really a good idea-"Molly starts.

"Please! Just one! Just one more chance! I need time to get over him and obviously 2 weeks is not enough. Please." I interrupt.

Lestrade sighs and puts a key in the door, I rush up to it.

"Before I turn this key I need you to do two things for me understand?" he asks.

I nod; whatever it takes.

"First of all, you cannot go back in that Morgue. It reminds you too much of Sherlock, you'll have to wait until you get better. Second of all, you have to take my job offer."

Job offer? I am confused for a couple of seconds but then remember his offer about taking Sherlock's job. I'm about to ask him how _this _isn't going to remind me of him when I realise, this is what I need. I need to be able to feel like I'm next to him all the time, a little bit of Sherlock but not too much. I'll get used to life without him.

"Yes." I agree after a deep breath in.

He turns the key door and I know that after I step out of this door that I can make a brand new start. I can do this. I take Molly's hand and walk out of the door. I know Sherlock is waiting on the other side.


End file.
